


Those magic changes my heart arranges

by diamondjacket



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: (a very loose one), (doesn't feature heavily though), Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Grease AU, Heavy Petting, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Sexuality, Some Fluff (admittedly not as much as I intended), mentions of bipolar disorder, some schmoop at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondjacket/pseuds/diamondjacket
Summary: He slowly, cautiously lifts his gaze.And his eyes run smack into blue ones he thought he’d never see again.Those blue eyes widen immediately, and that soft, pillowy mouth—the same mouth that had tasted Isak’s, not long ago—drops open in shock.“Isak?”For Day 7 of SKAM Fic Week.





	Those magic changes my heart arranges

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I hate Grease. (Although, since I am an enormous hypocrite, I'm also simultaneously excited that Tarjei's going to be in a major production of it! Why am I like this?) But yes, anyway: I am not a fan of it. However, a while back I had the idea for a very loose Grease AU fused with S3 canon, with Isak as Danny—except instead of macho bullshit, he was dealing with his internalized homophobia? I had started planning it as a multi-parter, until I realized that it just...didn't work as a fleshed-out concept. Like I'd get to the end of Grease (the worst part, imo) and the whole thing fell apart. But I thought it could maaaaybe work as a oneshot that pulled _select_ moments from Grease—and then I saw the prompt for Day 7 of Fic Week (based on a Friends ep or movie), and I thought I'd give it the ole college try. Don't know how well it worked out, but I needed to get it out of my system, haha. Hope it's not as fucking awful as I think it is. :)

Isak’s leaving tomorrow.

The summer is waning and he’s going back home. Back to ducking Eskild’s concerned and knowing eyes, back to ignoring his mother’s off-kilter and increasingly fervent texts (and the guilt that comes with it), back to deflecting his father’s lukewarm attempts to reconnect. Back to pretending that he can look at girls and feel anything more than maddening disinterest.

Back to life before Even.

They’re sitting side-by-side on the dock, bare feet submerged in pond water that’s slightly too cold for comfort. Isak feels like he’s spent the entire summer—lived an entire life—right here on this dock, Even’s solid presence warming him from the inside out, talking about everything and nothing. Stupid shit—parallel universes and _Seinfeld_ and movies and music.

(Even’s diagnosis and what came after, Isak’s mother and her declining health. Isak breaking up his best friend’s relationship, and not fully understanding why he did it. Even trying to kiss _his_ best friend, and understanding perfectly well why he did it.)

Even’s hand inches over, gentle fingers brushing Isak’s hand where it sits between them. It’s not the first time.

“I think I’m transferring schools,” he says softly, and Isak hums in acknowledgement.

He doesn’t ask where, because they don’t talk about things like that. Tangible things that make their looming problems—and the impending distance between them—all the more real.

“Are you happy about that?” Isak asks, holding in a gasp when Even’s hand moves again, completely covering his own.

Even shrugs, but his face is sad. Isak feels a tiny thrill at the fact that he knows these things, now. “Can’t go back to my old school,” Even murmurs. “No other choice, really.”

Isak’s not sure that’s entirely true, but he knows better than to say so.

Fighting the rising tide of panic (because fuck, when is he ever going to get this chance again?), Isak finds the courage to slowly turn his trembling hand over so his palm is facing upwards, lacing their fingers together.

He can feel the weight of Even’s eyes on him, and when he turns his head, the intensity of Even’s heavy gaze sends a shock of warmth down Isak’s spine.

Even lets out a shaky exhale. “I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers, and Isak feels it, deep inside, in his bones and under his skin and coursing through his veins.

_I don’t want to leave you, either._

But he doesn’t get the chance to say it out loud, because suddenly Even’s leaning in, and Isak’s face is turning up to meet his, magnetized, like he can’t help it. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And then their lips are brushing—once, twice—and Even’s other hand is coming up to sweetly cup Isak’s cheek...and then they’re kissing for real.

It’s molten hot and silky soft, and Isak feels like he’s drowning and flying all at once, like he’s free-floating in space and safely tethered to solid ground, right where he’s supposed to be for the first time in his life.

He feels... _golden._

Even pulls back eventually, blue eyes searching and breath coming fast. Isak instantly craves the heat of him, wants Even’s lush mouth back on his, tender and sure.

He wants everything.

He just...doesn’t want to think about what this means.

He doesn’t want to give _Even_ the chance to think about what this means.

He just wants this, wants to cling tight to summer, for as long as he can hold on.

 

###

 

“Come on, Isak, there had to have been _someone,_ ” Jonas says, elbowing Isak in the side. “Are you telling me that you spent three months on a campsite in the middle of the fucking woods and didn’t hook up with a single chick?”

As it happens, he can still feel Even’s lips on his, as vivid and scorching right this moment as it was the night it happened.

It’s what gets him through the day, sometimes.

“Yeah,” Mahdi chimes in from his perch on the windowsill. “You’ve been trying to get over Emma for so long—you needed this, bro.”

Isak shrugs, ignoring the prickling reminder of past deceits. “I didn’t,” he mumbles. The words feel weak, even to him, and if anyone gets a good look at his face, he knows it’ll be plain as day.

But it’s even weaker than he thought, apparently, because Magnus scoffs. “I don’t believe you,” he proclaims, poking Isak in the cheek because he’s the _worst._ “Look at your face! You’re all red.”

Jonas grins, a shark scenting blood. “He _does_ look red,” he chimes in, nudging him hard, and then Mahdi and Magnus start up a loud, irritating chorus of _ooooooooooh_ and _broooooo_ and they’re shoving at his shoulders and ruffling his hair, and the panic starts to bubble up again, thick and sharp.

He can see now that there’s no easy way out of this, no way out that won’t bury him deeper in bullshit, won’t tangle him up in more tenuous lies.

“Fine,” he snaps, smacking their hands away and adjusting his shirt. “There...may have been someone.”

_A someone with a dick._

“I knew it,” Jonas says triumphantly, smiling at Isak like he’s actually happy for him, like he wouldn’t be utterly disgusted if he knew the truth.

Mahdi jostles him playfully from behind, an eager smile on his handsome face. “Go on, then,” he says. “Tell us more.”

 _Not a chance in hell._ “There’s not much to tell,” Isak says, hoping his shrug comes off as casual. “It was...whatever.”

Magnus groans. “Come on, man, we need _details,_ ” he presses. “What was she like?”

_Tall. Funny. Oddly charming. The kindest person I’ve ever met._

_Not a “she.”_

“Pretty,” Isak says. It’s not a lie...not really.

It’s not enough for Magnus, though, because he’s opening his mouth, poised to keep hounding him.

But miraculously, Isak is saved by Eva when she approaches with Sana and Vilde in tow. _Thank God._

“Hi!” Vilde squeaks, smiling widely—but her clenching hands give away her nerves, as always. Magnus looks thoroughly and inexplicably entranced by it, as always.

Eva rolls her eyes at the rest of the group, who are leveling her with a collective blank stare. “Can you idiots try to look friendly for two seconds, please?” she asks. “There’s a new transfer student this year and we’re showing him around.”

Vilde’s doing, no doubt. Behind her, Sana is smiling in a manner that suggests she’d rather be getting a tooth pulled.

“Yeah?” Mahdi says, looking around. “So...where is he?”

Eva cranes her head around to look—but she catches Isak’s gaze, just briefly, and smirks. Isak immediately drops his eyes to the ground, heart pounding. But he honestly has no idea _why._

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—he doesn’t need to wait long to find out.

“Even!” Eva calls out, and Isak’s stomach flips at the sound of that name. _But there’s no way that it could possibly_ —

“Hi,” comes a deep, achingly familiar voice from above him, and Isak freezes.

He’s too scared to look up, he can’t do it, _he can’t,_ because this can’t be real, there’s no fucking way this is happening, it’s just his mind tricking him with what he can’t have—

Eva clears her throat. “Even, this is Jonas, Mahdi, Magnus...and someone I think you’ll find particularly interesting.” Her voice is knowing, and _oh God, what did Even tell her?_

He slowly, cautiously lifts his gaze.

And his eyes run smack into blue ones he thought he’d never see again.

Those blue eyes widen immediately, and that soft, pillowy mouth—the same mouth that had tasted Isak’s, not long ago—drops open in shock. “ _Isak?_ ”

Isak gulps, torn between terror and elation, the urge to flee and the desire to launch himself at Even’s body, to be surrounded by his warmth again. “Hi, Even,” he murmurs. He tries to keep it nonchalant, but it comes out much quieter than he wants. Intimate.

“You guys know each other?” Jonas asks, his strong brow furrowed in confusion. Magnus and Mahdi look equally intrigued, their heads turning between Isak and Even like they’re engrossed in a tennis match.

Even...hasn’t taken his eyes off Isak. He still looks as floored as Isak feels...but there’s also a pleased flush sitting on his cheeks, his mouth twitching like a big smile is threatening to break on his face at any moment.

Isak is so fucking happy to see him, he feels sick with it.

But all it takes is one more glance at Jonas’s puzzled frown—at Mahdi and Magnus and Eva and Sana and Vilde, _watching him_ —for the biting, ugly fear to come creeping back, high and tight in his chest.

He does the only thing he knows how to do—he clams up.

“Uh, sorta,” he mumbles, looking away. “We hung out a few times over the summer.”

_Try every day. Every single day, for two months._

Mahdi nudges him and grins slyly. “You replacing us?” he asks, laughing. “What gives?”

“Wait,” Magnus pipes up. “Didn’t you just say there was someone—”

 _Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod_ —

“Dude,” Isak scoffs, even as his heart races and his face flushes with panic. “We, like...smoked a couple times, I dunno. I barely remember.”

When he was eleven, he was playing in on a snowy hill and his sled hit a jagged rock. He had wiped out hard—terrifying his already nervous mother—broke his wrist as he rolled down the steep incline, scrabbling for purchase. He barely remembers the accident itself, but he remembers the pain being absolutely overwhelming, all-consuming. The worst thing he’s ever felt.

It’s nothing compared to this.

If he could snatch the words out of the air and swallow them back down, he would. But he can’t, and when he dares to look up at Even—to punish himself, mostly—and sees the shock on his face, the disbelief, the _hurt._..the regret is so thick in his throat, he thinks he could choke.

But Even recovers quickly. The chilly calm that settles over his face makes Isak feel even worse, somehow.

“Yeah,” Even says casually, lifting an eyebrow, meeting Isak’s anguished stare dead-on. “Nothing special.”

And then he turns and walks away.

He walks away, and Isak wants to cry. Wants to yell at the top of his lungs for Even to come back, come back, _please._

He doesn’t.

 

###

 

It’s almost alarming, how easy it is to get Even’s number from Sana.

He and Even hadn’t exchanged contact information before they left for home, too afraid to face what their impending separation really meant. They had delayed and delayed, denied and denied, until one day, they were walking in different directions and it was too late.

But Sana—an inherently suspicious (if good-hearted) person—just...hands it over without a word. Without even looking up from her laptop.

He’s too tired and too desperate to question it.

 **To Even:** _hi even. it’s isak. can we talk pls?_

He has no idea what he’s going to say, if Even is kind enough to grant him a meeting. And Even has exactly zero good reasons to want to hear him out—his crestfallen expression from a few days ago has been tattooed on Isak’s brain ever since he let fear get the better of him, _again._

It takes an uncomfortably long time for the Even’s typing bubble to pop up—Isak’s starting to think his message will go ignored. But then it suddenly appears and Isak’s heart gives a violent lurch, beating fast as the bubble hovers and hovers and hovers in place, taunting him.

Finally, a reply:

 **From Even:** _oh, so you remember me after all?_

 _Ouch._ But also deserved.

He wants to apologize, he wants to grovel like a fool, he wants to say a thousand things. But...not now. Not like this.

 **To Even:** _i need to see you. can we meet at kb later?_

This time, Isak expects it when the response takes a few minutes to come through. He’s happy to get a response at all.

 **From Even:** _hmm, if you’re buying. better make it worth my while_

Isak huffs out a tiny, surprised laugh into the quiet of the classroom, and just a little bit of tension leeches from his shoulders. He can’t type his reply fast enough.

 **To Even:** _deal_

 

###

 

It’s a shock to the system, a punch to the solar plexus, when Even strolls through the door.

He’s still, just...so fucking beautiful. So beautiful Isak can’t be assed to come up with another word for it. A word that feels less like…like they’re...

Just...less.

Now that Even’s back in front of him, real and alive and perfect, Isak just wants to _touch._ To wrap Even up, to feel those arms tight around him, hold him close and breathe him in.

He’s starting to realize what that means, now. He knows...well. He thinks he’s known, for quite a while.

For one blissful, brief moment, Even’s face seems to light up when he first sees Isak waiting awkwardly near the restrooms. But it shutters off almost immediately, dull and impassive, and Isak’s chest tightens miserably.

“Hey,” Even says, after a slow, cautious approach. His hands fiddle with the straps of his backpack, like they’re desperate for a task to occupy them that isn’t fidgeting.

Isak swallows. “Hi,” he croaks, overwhelmed by Even’s close proximity, familiar and intimidating in equal measure.

There’s a horrible, protracted bout of silence, then, during which Isak can’t quite bring himself to vocalize the million thoughts running through his head and Even refuses to meet Isak’s questing eyes.

Finally, Even seems to grow tired of waiting, exhaling loudly and opening his mouth to speak. “Do you want to get a ta—”

“I’m sorry,” Isak blurts out suddenly. It’s almost involuntary, like Even broke the dam and Isak couldn’t physically hold it in any longer.

Even looks momentarily surprised, raising his eyebrows in question but ultimately keeping quiet, waiting for Isak to elaborate. Isak supposes that’s fair.

“I’m just...I was an asshole to you, before,” he says softly. A laughable understatement, and Even seems to agree.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling darkly. “You really were.” Isak expected the confirmation, but _fuck_ —it still sucks to hear it spoken so plainly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his heart in his throat. He’s not sure he can possibly say it enough to assuage the guilt he feels, but he has to start somewhere.

“What was that, anyway?” Even asks. He sounds genuinely curious.

_I was fucking scared. Scared by how much I wanted you—how much I still want you. Scared of what that means for me._

“I don’t know,” Isak says, shrugging cheerlessly and looking down at his ratty sneakers. “I just...I panicked.”

He can’t bring himself to say what he was panicking _about,_ and it’s clear from Even’s expression that he’s thinking about asking.

In the end, his face softens—just a touch—and he doesn’t press any further.

“It won’t happen again,” Isak promises, surprised by the vehemence behind his words. “Just...please. Give me another chance.” It’s a weirdly... _romantic_ thing to ask, and it makes him cringe.

Even hums, and his eyes flit down to Isak’s mouth for a moment. Isak can’t _breathe._

“Chance at what?” Even murmurs. And, well. That’s the question, isn’t it?

Isak gulps audibly, and he doesn’t know what he’s about to say until he’s already said it.

“Anything.”

 

###

 

Eva’s house is already a disaster area when Isak and the boys walk in.

People have been hyping this party for weeks now, so Isak’s not really that surprised to see that some of them arrived a little pent-up and overzealous. He can immediately spot a broken vase and beer spilled on the sofa, though, and he winces on Eva’s behalf.

But Isak can’t worry about that right now. He’s here for one reason, and one reason only.

He and Even hadn’t exactly talked specifics during their coffee date—or, well, whatever that was. But they had agreed that they’d see each other at the party, and that they’d talk. That Even would explain why he enrolled at Nissen, and Isak would (try to) explain why he acted like the world’s biggest dickhead. That they’d attempt to pick up where they left off at the end of the summer.

Still, they didn’t talk about the... _kissing._ Whether that’s still on the table. Whether that’s something Even still wants.

If it’s something Isak can give him.

Isak’s been looking forward to this all week, and he can’t help but scan the top of the crowd for Even before he’s even shed his coat, pulse already fluttering at the idea of being near him again. It had been so wonderful to see him at KB, once the nerves had worn off—to shoot the shit about every topic under the sun, to reacquaint himself with Even’s smile, to bask in the joy that radiates from Even in waves when he laughs.

To stare a little too long at the sharpness of his strong jaw and the delicate curve of his pale neck—firm and yielding and drawing Isak in like a moth to a flame.

He can barely acknowledge what it is...but he wants more of it. And right now, he really doesn’t want to waste any more time thinking about the consequences.

Isak waits until Magnus is off chasing Vilde, and Jonas and Mahdi head to the backyard to smoke, to look for Even in earnest. The lights are dim and Eva’s living room is packed to capacity with drunk idiots, but it still doesn’t take Isak long to find him. Even is tall and stands out of a crowd, yes, but Isak can’t help but feel that they’re just...attuned to each other. He doesn’t quite know why the thought warms him so much.

As if to prove Isak’s theory, Even’s eyes immediately fix on Isak’s like he could sense him approaching, and the grin that spreads on his face threatens to buckle Isak’s knees.

Even had definitely been talking to someone near the stairwell, but it’s like he forgets that person entirely. He and Isak come together like magnets, the rest of the room fading into the background.

“Hi,” Isak says, rather breathlessly. It would be embarrassing, if Even wasn’t looking at him with a tantalizing spark in his eye. Licking his lips, like he’s hungry.

Even gives him a smile, small and sweet and just for Isak.

“Hi.”

His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his denim jacket, and Isak wants them on his body, instead.

“I’m...I’m glad you’re here,” Isak says, and he feels his face flush with the admission, even though it must be obvious just how pleased he is to see him.

Even just inches closer, keeps on smiling. “Me too,” he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the party.

 _I want you I want you I want you I want_ —

They stare at each other for a moment, eyes roving, too afraid to move and break the spell.

Then Isak hears an ominous crash in the distance, and it shakes him out of it. He wants Even alone, he realizes. Wants to talk and touch and taste his mouth.

“Do you want to go outside?” he asks, hopeful. The smirk he gets in response makes his heart trip—and then Even’s eyes dip down, travel up the length of Isak’s body, and Isak’s heart almost stops altogether.

“I’d rather dance with you.”

Heat instantly zings through him at the idea of it—of Even’s arms caging him in, of Even’s hair underneath his fingers, of Even moving solidly against him.

There’s no point in denying that he wants it. He wants it so badly.

But it’s so easy to let his surroundings back in, when he thinks about it—to let the noise and the chaos creep back into his periphery. If he...did _that_...everyone would see. Everyone would _know._ Not just about Even, but...Isak, too.

What he is.

“I…”

Even seems to take pity on him and places his hand on Isak’s shoulder—a simple touch that races through Isak like fire. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he says. “Think about it. I’ll be right back.”

And then he saunters off, leaving Isak practically panting.

He stands there for a moment, frozen with indecision, a familiar fear gripping his insides when he thinks of all the ways being with Even could go wrong...would almost _certainly_ go wrong. He could become the object of school-wide ridicule, he could lose his closest friends, he could taint the last vestiges of a relationship with his mother. All the things that keep him awake at night, tossing and turning and sweating. Things that nip at the corners of his mind as he touches himself, rushed and quiet and restless in the dark, biting his lip and flushing with shame.

...But then he thinks of Even, and his bright eyes and gentle smile and strong, comforting hands. How beautiful he is when he’s happy. How beautiful he is when he’s sad. How he listened to Isak, chose to care about him, when Isak had already resigned himself to going through life alone. How good it had felt, the first time Even hugged him close—so good, so incredibly _good,_ there hadn’t been any room to think about all the ways that it was wrong.

He’s going to dance with Even.

But if he’s going to do this ( _I want to do this, I have to do this_ )...he really needs a drink.

He forces his way through the crowd towards Eva’s kitchen, relieved to find it blessedly empty, and heads for the fridge.

“Hi, Isak,” says a voice from behind him.

_Oh, fuck._

He reluctantly spins around and—yup. Not good.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he says, eyeing her warily. He hasn’t seen her in a while, since their sham of a (non-)relationship came to an abrupt end. The two of them move in different circles and he was away all summer—not to mention he hasn’t exactly been keen to see her, after he unceremoniously dumped her when it all became too much, when he no longer had use for her as a method of getting his friends off his back.

Just add that to the long list of things he feels guilty about.

Emma smiles awkwardly. “You look...good,” she says, and it should be nice to hear, but all he can think of is _Even. Even is waiting for me._

“Thanks,” he says. “You...look good, too.” She looks the same to him, really—as much as it makes him an asshole, he was never really in it for _her._ There’s a lot about Emma he didn’t notice, even then.

She seems pleased by his words, anyway, a hopeful smile blooming on her face.

“I thought about you a lot this summer,” she says bashfully, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She probably thinks it’s alluring, and it probably would be, to most other guys.

 _This...is not good. Not good at all._ He glances at the door to the kitchen, so preoccupied with figuring out a way to quickly extricate himself from the situation that he doesn’t notice Emma moving closer.

“Emma, listen—” he starts, but before he can fully register what’s happening, she’s right there, in his space, and her lips are pressing insistently to his.

It takes him a long, anguished moment to realize what she’s doing...but when he does, his entire body freezes in shock, and his mind screams _not Even not Even not Even._

_This is wrong, this is wrong, this can’t be happening—_

He hears the door creak open, and it’s exactly what he needs to snap out of his horrified panic and push her away.

When he looks at the door, ignoring Emma’s surprised huff, he sees… _no. Oh no._

It’s Even’s retreating back.

_Fuck. Nonononono fuck fuck fuck—_

“Isak, what’s going on?” Emma’s asking, but Isak barely hears her—her voice is muffled, like he’s underwater.

_What did Even see?_

“Emma, I’m sorry,” he says. “But this isn’t going to work.” He can’t waste any more time placating her now, so he flees the kitchen without looking back.

Isak doesn’t immediately see Even when he surveys the top of the raucous crowd. Or when he checks near the stairwell. Or both of the bathrooms. Or the bedrooms. Or the garden.

He looks and looks and looks, desperation and panic building and cresting, a wretched sob working its way out of his throat.

It doesn’t matter, though. None of it matters.

Even is gone.

 

###

 

When Isak gets to school on Monday, Even passes him in the hallway like he doesn’t even see him.

Isak would rather Even get up his face, yell at him, punch him in the face. Anything that gets him talking, gives Isak the chance to explain what happened—what _didn’t_ happen. Anything to get Even’s eyes on him again.

But instead, there’s just brutal, cold indifference.

 

###

 

It’s been going on like that for weeks, and Isak is slowly losing his mind.

The scene plays again and again in his head on loop, and he oscillates between agonizing over each and every detail, to imagining all the things he could have done differently to avoid the outcome, to getting angry at Emma for kissing him, to getting angry at _Even_ for walking out on him, and back to to the tortured agonizing. Rinse and repeat.

He spends his days staring pathetically at Even from across rooms (Even never stares back), avoiding Emma’s curious gaze, and ducking his friends’ questions about who he hooked up with that night at Eva’s, because apparently rumors are flying.

He spends his nights lying awake, an unbearable summer highlight reel flashing through his head (Even’s soft hand in his, Even’s silky voice pitched low, Even’s hot breath on his neck, Even’s long eyelashes fluttering, Even’s chapped lips on his, _Even, Even, Even_ ). He rarely sleeps, and when he does, he rarely sleeps well.

Something’s got to give.

And it does give, on a Friday night. Chris Berg is hosting a movie night while her parents are out of town—she invites too few people for it be considered a full-fledged party, and too many for any real movie-watching to take place. But there’s lots and lots of free alcohol, and Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus flat-out beg Isak to go with them. After putting up minimal resistance, he gives in—he’s barely seen them outside of school, lately, confined to his misery, and he’s run out of viable excuses.

For some reason, he doesn’t expect Even to be there.

But there he is—seated on the couch, sandwiched between Sana and some guy Isak doesn’t know. He’s laughing at something Sana said with his head thrown back, and Isak _aches._

The smile drops from Even’s face when he catches sight of Isak standing there, and he immediately looks away, mouth set in a straight line. It’s not the first time, but it hurts.

So Isak proceeds to get supremely, ridiculously wasted.

He doesn’t mean to, not at first...but once the booze kicks in, all buzzy and fizzy and warm, he chases the feeling. He drinks, and drinks, and drinks, until he stops feeling pangs in his chest every time he looks at Even, until the burden feels a little lighter.

It’s the best he’s felt in a while.

But unfortunately, he also forgets that alcohol never truly makes you forget your problems—if you drink enough, it only makes them loom larger.

So when Even excuses himself to go grab water from the kitchen, Isak follows him.

The door closes loudly behind him—he’s too drunk and uncoordinated to think about dampening the noise—and Isak expects Even to startle when he turns around...but he doesn’t. It’s like he expected Isak to do this, was ready for it.

“What do you want, Isak?” he asks, weary, almost sad. Isak _hates_ it, hates that he made Even feel this way. That he’s somehow managed to ruin the only thing in his life that made any fucking sense.

He exhales shakily. “Even,” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. “Please, just...just listen.”

“Why sh—”

“It wasn’t what you thought,” Isak pleads desperately, stepping closer, buoyed when Even stills, but doesn’t shift away.

Even rolls his eyes, but it’s defensive, like he’s covering up just how upset he is. “I know what I saw,” he says, voice steely.

“It _wasn’t,_ ” Isak says, begging him with his eyes to understand, as best he can. “It wasn’t, it wasn’t.” He can’t take the distance between them any longer so he closes it, and even though Even is tense, he allows Isak’s trembling hands to clutch his jacket.

“She kissed me, but I never…” Isak continues, barely holding back tears, now. “I don’t want her, Even.” He looks up, and his breath hitches when he sees Even’s clear eyes looking back. “I only want you,” he whispers, and he knows it’s a bad idea but he can’t help but burrow his face into the flesh of Even’s check, smelling him there, rubbing the heat of his burning cheeks against soft, tender skin.

He feels Even’s throat bob when he swallows. “Isak…”

“Please,” Isak implores softly. “ _Please._ ” Even is so warm and perfect and present, and he smells _so good._ Isak can’t help but press his lips to the juncture where Even’s neck meets his shoulder, dropping a light kiss there like he’s always wanted, stomach swooping when he hears Even’s breath hitch in response.

The knows that the alcohol is making him braver, but he can’t care right now. He can only start kissing Even’s neck in earnest—suckling, open-mouthed kisses, tongue darting out to catch the salt there. Even rumbles deep in his chest, and Isak moans quietly at the vibrations against his mouth, hands unclenching from Even’s jacket and sliding up his chest and back down again, reveling in the solid feel of him.

It’s so _good,_ being close to Even like this—he can’t believe he ever thought this was wrong, that this is something he had to deny himself. They fit together so perfectly, and Even feels so fucking amazing under his fingers, sharp and masculine edges and soft, sweet curves all at once. Even hums and pants and groans so beautifully at the feel of Isak’s searching mouth, his roving hands, and it makes Isak feel wild. Like he’s losing control.

“Please, Even,” Isak murmurs, running his lips up to trace the shell of Even’s ear. “Let me…” And he’s sliding his hand down, down, down, to where he’s wanted to touch Even for so long—since they first met, really—palm running the length of that long torso and past his belt, down where Even is hot, and huge, and _hard—_

“No,” Even says suddenly, reaching down to gently brush Isak’s hand away, shattering the moment entirely.

He wasn’t pushed, but Isak still stumbles back, shaking his head in confusion. “No?”

Even takes in a shuddering breath. “No,” he confirms, and Isak wants to cry.

“You don’t want me,” he says, voice small, and it’s not a question.

At his words, Even has the audacity to _laugh._ “Of course I want you,” he scoffs, like it should be obvious. After weeks of the cold shoulder, of radio silence. “But you’re...you’re drunk.”

“I’m not _that_ dr—”

“And more to the point,” Even barrels on, cutting Isak off. “If I...if I were to walk back in there, and I was...holding your hand. Do you think you could do it?”

The question catches Isak off guard, the booze inducing a half-second sensory lag as his brain catches up with Even’s words. He tries to think about it—what it would be like to grip Even’s hand in his out in the open, to show the world what he is, under the intrusive stares of Jonas, his friends, of Eva and Sana and Vilde and all the rest of them. Of _strangers._

He likes to think he could. He wants to say yes. But if he’s being entirely honest...he just doesn’t know.

And he clearly takes too long to answer, because Even shakes his head, smiling sadly.

“That’s okay,” he says, reaching up to cup Isak’s cheek in his big palm, caressing it with his thumb. “You’re not ready, and that’s okay.” He takes a deep breath, then, like he’s bracing himself. “But I...I need more, right now. I can’t...I can’t be a secret. After what happened last year, I need to know where I stand, okay?”

Isak knows what happened to Even last year. He remembers the the night Even told him, cool air skimming off the pond and kissing their faces where they sat on the dock, crickets singing all around them as he laid out the story for Isak in hushed, desperate tones. Isak remembers, and his heart clenches at the reminder of it.

“Do you understand?” Even asks, eyes imploring.

Devastated, drunk, there’s not much Isak can do but nod.

Even’s mouth quirks, then, a small and resigned thing, before leaning in and brushing a feather-light kiss against Isak’s forehead.

“When you’re ready,” Even says, pulling away completely, leaving Isak shivering. “I’ll be here.”

And then Isak’s watching Even walk away from him.

Again.

 

###

 

A lot happens, after that.

Well...nothing happens at first, not really. In the weeks that follow, Isak spends a lot of time alone in his room, playing video games and binging on Netflix and shitty food in equal measure. He goes to school, but he avoids Jonas and Mahdi and Magnus when he can, electing to take solitary sadness walks so he can pity himself in peace, when he’d normally sit with them in the cafeteria. They know something’s up—Jonas, especially—but they haven’t pushed him to talk about it yet.

Isak can’t decide if he wants them to or not.

He thinks about Even, naturally. He thinks about Even a lot.

He sees him all the time, is always aware of his presence—how could he not be?—and it still feels like a wound. Because the thing is, Isak still feels Even’s arms around his waist, Even’s warm breath against his ear. Hears the deep timbre of his laughter, even when he’s not around.

It makes him want to be reckless—to say _fuck it, fuck them all_ and call Even to tell them he wants to do this thing with him for real. But something always stops him, right before he dials.

And then, slowly...things start to change.

First, he tells Eskild. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but he’s tipsy and sad and _so tired,_ so tired all the time, that when Eskild barges into his room on a Saturday evening and demands to know what’s wrong, Isak can’t hold it in.

It’s...a lot. He cries. He thinks Eskild cries, too, just a bit.

Eskild doesn’t chastise him or smack him upside the head like Isak expects. Instead, he pulls Isak into an awkward one-armed hug—or at least it’s awkward until Isak gives it up and melts into it, because it feels kind of nice—and says _I love you, baby Jesus_ into his hair, and _we all love you_ and _we’re here for you_ and _there’s nothing wrong with you._

Linn shuffles into his room the next night without preamble, with tea and a movie, and curls up in bed beside him. She doesn’t talk, not once, and it’s still the best night Isak’s had in a long time.

A few days later, he tells Jonas.

They’re on a bench in the park and eating kebab when Isak says _it’s not a girl,_ and the world comes to a stop in the heart-rending moment that Jonas is silent, taking in Isak’s fumbling words.

“Is it me?” Jonas asks, and Isak gapes for a moment, shocked to receive such a casual question where he expected stinging rejection.

And then Isak’s barking out a disbelieving laugh, and then _Jonas_ is laughing, too...and just seeing him smile—seeing that he’s still there, solid and real and happy beside him, is a fucking revelation.

It’s everything.

Mahdi and Magnus follow soon after. Mahdi takes it with his usual industrial-strength chill, and Magnus with his industrial-strength tone-deafness. But it’s easy to brush away, because they don’t care. They don’t care _at all,_ and...why was he so afraid of this?

Mahdi gives him a brotherly slap on the back, and shrugs. “So what are you gonna do about Even?” he asks.

Isak doesn’t know.

He tells his dad via text, and gets a tepid, if cordial response—better than he had hoped, really. He tells his mom, and she tells him she loves him. He cries some more.

He tells Emma, because he owes her that much. Well...he owes her _something,_ anyway, but for once, telling the truth feels easier than telling another lie.

She’s okay with it—even pats him on the shoulder and wishes him good luck. But she’s angrier than she lets on, apparently, because the entire school knows within the week.

It’s...not so bad, really. He gets a few strange looks in the hallways, and a handful of girls he doesn’t know approach him and tell him how cute it is that he likes guys.

Could be worse, all things considered.

He can’t help but wonder if Even’s heard about it—if Even knows that people know, now. If he’s thinking of Isak at all, if it changes anything for him. He wants nothing more than for Even to sweep him up off his feet, smiling and happy, to pull him close and kiss him and tell him he’s proud of him.

Even doesn’t. But Isak didn’t expect him to, not really.

At the end of the semester, he finds himself agreeing to host Vilde’s Christmas party. It doesn’t seem worth fighting, and he knows Eskild will be excited. Seeing the surprised smile light up Vilde’s face when he says he’ll do it is kind of nice, too.

Everyone’s invited, and everyone comes. Vilde, Eva, and Sana go all out on the decorations, bedazzling the room in more twinkling lights and sparkling tinsel than Isak thought humanly possible. The kollektiv smells of vanilla and pine, and there’s cocoa and cider and mulled wine. Most people drink beer, anyway.

Magnus is stumbling his way through a stilted conversation with Vilde, Mahdi is participating in a friendly dance battle with Noora and Chris Berg in the middle of the room, and Jonas and Eva are off in the corner, huddled close, talking to each other in hushed voices. Everyone’s together, and everyone’s happy, if only for the night.

Isak watches them all from the sidelines, and smiles.

When he looks over at the doorway, Even is there, using his considerable height to help Eskild hang mistletoe, grinning widely at something Eskild is saying.

He’s glowing, and gorgeous, and...yeah. Isak wants him.

It’s never seemed quite that simple, before. But it’s undeniably true.

He’s walking over before he registers what his legs are doing.

When Even sees him coming, he looks like he wants to frown, but can’t—too caught up in the magic of the evening, in lights and food and friends. Isak knows, because Isak can feel it, too.

“Hi,” Even says, and he sounds hesitant. But it’s okay, because Isak is sure enough for the both of them.

“I love you,” he says.

It doesn’t feel as scary as he imagined, it doesn’t feel like he’s giving anything away. It feels like...relief. Like his entire life has led to this, like loving Even was what he was always meant to do.

Even’s mouth drops open, stunned. He opens and closes it several more times, like he’s working out how to respond, like he hadn’t prepared at all for this eventuality.

“Where did…” He gulps. “What are you...what are you saying?”

Isak just smiles, an inexplicable sense of calm setting over him. “I’m saying that I’m sorry.” He’ll apologize for the rest of his life, if that’s what it takes. “And that...I’m ready. If you are.”

It’s soft and hard to hear in the bustle of the room, but Even’s breath catches, just a little.

“I…” he whispers after several beats of heavy silence. “I won’t hide, Isak.”

“I know.”

Even looks at him a moment longer, face unreadable, and Isak thinks, _this is it._ This is the moment where it all ends, or it all begins.

And then Even pulls him into a tight hug, long arms wrapping around his shoulders and folding him in, and Isak wastes no time before he’s clutching back just as hard.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _Yes._

They stay like that for a long time (it’s probably only a matter of seconds), when they hear a whistle from nearby.

When they look over, Eskild is leaning against the wall and smiling at them fondly, and...pointing at the ceiling.

_The mistletoe._

Even looks up at it, and then at Isak’s face and down to his mouth, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed. And, well...that just won’t do.

Isak lets a slow smile spread on his face, gratified when Even smiles back, relieved. He sighs and leans in close, right where Isak wants him.

Even pushes their foreheads together and murmurs, “Are you sure this is what you want?” Isak can feel the question against his lips, and you know what? He’s tired of questions. He’s tired of waiting.

He’s tired of being afraid.

 _You’re the one that I want,_ he thinks, before he brings their mouths together.

In the background, their friends cheer.

Isak doesn’t hear them.

**Author's Note:**

> How is it that I normally write silly shit, but when I write a fic inspired by a very silly movie, I get angsty? The fuck? Anyway, find me on [Tumblr](http://diamondjacket.tumblr.com) if that didn't scare you away. :)


End file.
